Rue's Lullaby
by Pandora Hermione Everdeen
Summary: Rue's tale
1. Chapter 1: Reaping

**So this is my first fanfiction :D But I am crap at writing so please review and give me some advice on the story :3**

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><p>My eyes flutter open as I wake from the deep sleep which had engulfed me. I try to recollect the dream I was having, no such luck, the only thing I know is that it wasn't one of the usual nightmares which riddles my mind every night. My eyes adjust to the light, scanning the ceiling looking for its familiar quirks: the damp patch in the corner; the cracks which litter the off-white canvas; the crayon marks from trying and failing to draw stars; and the initials of every person who owns the Daly name. If I wake from a horrifying nightmare, I look at these initials and try to put a name to all of them, this calming me down enough to go back to sleep. I stretch my tiny body out, what seems like every bone in my body cracking. No matter how hard I try to forget all I can think of is that today is the day, The Reaping. Some say it is a day to celebrate; the only the Capitol says this, the place which started all this up; it's a place filled with people who have gone under the surgical knife so much that you can't tell if there is anything natural; people who find it odd if you don't have multicolored clothes and make-up which looks like war paint; people who enjoy the Hunger Games and find it acceptable that kids die every year, the bloodier the better; people who's children are safe from the wrath of the Hunger Games. Just the thought of these people is enough to fill me with anger. On the other hand, for other people from the Districts, it is a day of fear; preparing for the possibility that they or someone close to them will be chosen; preparing for the either celebrating that they haven't been chosen or hiding from the world, trying to figure out how they will survive if their loved one is killed; preparing for the fact that perhaps the odds will not be in their favor.<p>

Today is my first reaping, and to say I was a bit nervous would be a big understatement; my name will be put seven times into the bowl which controls every girl's life in the district. At the age of twelve, a few lucky children would only have their name in once but for the rest of us who have mouths to feed, we have to get tesserae with the cost of one name slip. It's a cruel way of controlling us but the Capitol know that we are too poor and helpless to stand up to them. Even with the tesserae I still have to get up every morning to work in the orchard. I do this all day, every day, ever since I was five; I've only had about a month off work in total. People say I work too hard, that I'm only twelve and should be relaxing more, but how can I? I have five tiny mouths to feed and they would all starve if I didn't. Even though mother works full time, the amount of money she gets paid wouldn't be enough to feed our family and I would rather die than watch mother take a second job or some of the younger siblings do work. I have told them not to work until they are ten years old at least, and I have forbidden them to under no circumstances take tesserae once they are twelve. If I get reaped then I don't know what will happen to my family, I made a pact with my friend that if one of us gets reaped and doesn't return then A quarter of their earns should go to their dead friends family, I hope she'll keep this pact.

I lie there for a few minutes, gathering the strength to get up; in the last few minutes my bed has multiplied in comfort and warmth, it's as if it is doing this on purpose to make me stay. I can hear the peaceful, heavy breathing coming from the other five children in the room; a soft snore coming from one. I can remember each one of them being born as if it was yesterday; the screams of my mother, her face contorted in pain as each child pops out; the clean scent of the hospital, the crispness of the white sheets, and the sound of beeping, babies crying and the burble of friendly chat. I remember seeing each one of my sisters' and brothers' faces for the first time and being overcome with joy; Each of those days cannot be compared to anything else, each day filled which the aura of new life. Another baby is on the way, in fact twins, a boy and a girl; it's as if mum is a mass production industry like District 3 or District 8. She laughs whenever I tell her this, she never laughs anymore so on the rare occasion she does it's like a spell, transfixing us on the spot as the melodic sound washes over us; everything seems to brighten and I can almost believe that everything is going to be alright. I finally decide to get up, and trying not to step on any stray fingers or toes, get ready for the day; shorts, sandals and a t-shirt, just like normal. Just as I'm about to leave I hear a faint whisper from Bailey, my youngest sister, a see she's crying. "Rue, Rue, please don't die Rue, please don't die." I tip-toe over and stroke her tiny head, it breaks my heart when any of my siblings cry, especially Bailey; "I'm not going to die Bailey, it's just a nightmare." I sing her the lullaby which mum used to sing to us when we couldn't sleep; I can feel her muscles calming down as I stroke her head and her breathing slows down. I brush away her wisps of hair and kiss her on the forehead, her face once more in a tranquil state. I tip-toe through the house quietly and let myself out through the front door, closing it slowly behind me.

The sun peaks through the leaves of trees in the orchard creating a mottled pattern on the ground. I can hear the mocking jays' singing their sweet sound in the trees. I love it in the morning – the crispness of the new day; the calmness of the orchard. I can't help but forget the pain of everyday life when I am in the orchard; I even forget the Hunger Games. I feel free out here; collecting the food is therapeutic in a way and the mocking jays and I sing to each other this little tune I taught them; the orchard is like a second home to me. If heaven was even half as tranquil as the orchard, I would embrace death with open arms. "You're daydreaming again aren't you?" The familiar voice snaps me out of my trance though I can't see where it has come from. A sudden object flies from the sky and smashes against my head, the pain instant; I see a bruised apple lying on the ground. I look up to see my friend Amaya hanging from an apple tree, a basket of apples sitting beside her; "thanks a lot," I say, giving a slightly hostile laugh while rubbing my head, "and you're going to get in trouble for that apple". Amaya jumps down from the tree, landing lightly on her feet; "they won't miss one apple" she laughs, winking. You can't stay mad at Amaya, she's just one of those people who everyone loves, always a smile on her face; she can wrap her finger around any person in the district, getting anything she wants at a bat of her eyelashes. We chat about the events of the past week as we gather the apples, there's an unanimous consent to not mention the reaping; Amaya has lost a brother and sister to the reaping leaving her as an only child so it's a touchy subject for her.

We stop working at lunch time and split to get ready for the reaping, agreeing to meet up at the square. I get a small lunch of an apple and a glass of milk, and get dressed in my best clothes for the reaping; mother has laid out a dress which blends from gold to green, it is obviously new as all our clothes are normally dull and could be compared to rags. I get my brothers and sisters ready, even though they won't be in the reaping. We all walk down to the square, all seven of us; in any other District we would be out of place, looking like a mini army but in District 11, there are multiple families who have more than six children, the hunger shows in their faces. The square is already starting to fill up; I leave my family at the back and join the twelve year old section, searching for Amaya. I see her at the back of the section, waving at me; I skip over to join her, greeting her with our usual secret handshake we made when we were three. The feeling of butterflies creeps into my stomach, making me feel queasy; I can see my sickness reflected on Amaya, her face I sickening green. My attention moves towards the screen which is currently showing the emblem; so many people hate this emblem, it represents so much pain and suffering in Panem; no-one speaks as the people look at the emblem, the only sound you can hear is the shuffling of everyone going into their place. The clock chimes twice signaling the start of the reaping. The District 11 representative, Chriselda Beltrisari, walks onto the stage; her cherry red wig bouncing as if it has a mind of it's own. She is always too extravagant and cheery, it gets annoying after the first few minutes; she greets the district and sits down at the front of the stage. The mayor then comes, introduces himself and reads the history of Panem. You could hear a pin drop in the square today, the tension hangs stiff in the air. After the mayor's speech, he introduces the District 11 victors, Chaff and Seeder; these victors will personally mentor the two chosen tributes this year, as they do every year. I wonder how they don't go insane as every year the tributes they mentor die. The mentors from the other districts resort to alcohol and drugs after becoming victorious to hide the emotional scarring of the games; I don't want to turn out like that ever.

Chriselda comes back to the microphone; it's time to choose this year's tributes. You can tell her smile is just a front; what must she feel every time it comes to choosing the tributes. Knowing that you have the fate of every child's life in your hands, that with which ever slip you pick, you will be condemning a child to pain and suffering. "Boys first, I think," she says, sticking her hand into the bowl; she fumbles around the slips and draws out a slip with a flourish. Everyone is holding their breath; the only sound is the slight humming of the electrical equipment. "Thresh Garland!" A piercing wail erupts from one of the girls in my section; I turn around to see the poor girl fall to the ground sobbing. Thresh walks up to the stage, a determined look in his eye; I'm impressed he hasn't turned around to see the girl, perhaps he wants to stay emotionless for the camera. He is well built, has dark skin and looks like the kind of guy whose stare could kill you. I wouldn't want to be his competitor. He shakes hands with the mayor and victors and takes his seat.

"And now for the girls." Chriselda says as she sticks her hands into the bowl again and draws out a slip with a flourish. Again it is silent as she slowly chooses which slip to draw out. I realize now that I don't want to know who is picked; I grab Amaya's hand, squeezing it so hard that I am probably causing her pain. I try to block out the words which have started to form on Chriselda's lips but I can't help but listen.

"And the female tribute is Rue Daly!"


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbyes

I can't move; it's as if my feet have been glued to the floor. Everyone else is reacting around me; sympathetically patting my back and wishing me luck; but I can tell all this sympathy is half-hearted. Inside everyone is glad that they and their relatives haven't being picked and that they can go home now and celebrate. A few people sigh and shake their head, as they always do when a twelve year old is picked; no-one thinks it is fair for twelve year olds as they are against older kids who are fully grown and are stronger. Somewhere behind me I can hear crying, possibly Bailey or another one of my family; it breaks my heart to hear their pain. I know I should have moved by now but I am paralyzed, paralyzed by fear, paralyzed by anger, knowing that there is no way I will be able to see my family again after I get on that Capitol train. Anger bubbles up inside me, threatening to show its ugly head. Why was I chosen when there were so many other kids with much more name slips in the bowl than I had? Some people had over fifty slips yet I was picked; the odds were more in my favor than half of the population. It was as if the reaping had been rigged, yet I know that is not possible: I don't come from an important family, I am not rich, nor are my parents victors. I can feel everyone's eyes focused on me, waiting for me to take the stage, the pity in their faces as they will me to go up. It's as if I am looking at myself through someone else's eyes: I can see my small figure standing there, starting to sway from side to side; I can see myself start to fiddle with the seam of my dress; the look in my face is of someone who isn't quite sane, someone who is lost in the depths of their mind. My brain is screaming at me to move but my feet stay put. It's like my feet are not connected to my brain at all, like they have a mind and life of their own and it's telling them to not move a muscle.

"Rue Daly?" Chriselda says again, a hint of annoyance and impatience creeping into her voice. I can feel someone push me; it's Amaya, her blue eyes brimming with tears; I slowly walk up to the stage. I'm on auto pilot; thinking of what I'm going to say to my family, trying to keep myself from crying, wandering if I'll ever see District 11 again; it's all giving me a headache. In no time I've reached the stage, shaking hands first with Chriselda, then Chaff and Seeder, then Thresh, his handshake firm and strong; it scares me to think that he could crush me with just two fingers if he really wanted to. Chriselda announces us as the District 11 tributes and the anthem starts to play; a few people clap but from the look of the crowd, most people aren't happy. No-one is truly happy these days, but during the next month or so, the whole of Panem, apart from the Capitol and Districts 1 and 2, will be in a state of depression as they watch twenty-four of their children fighting to the death. The faces of my family reflects how I feel; distraught about me being reaped; terrified for the next few weeks and probably the rest of their life for my probable death; these only a few of the many feelings swirling around my mind, ready to come up with last night's shepherd's pie.

We are finally escorted off the stage and into the Justice Building – a huge marble structure; it was said it was a thing of beauty but evidently time has taken its toll. You can see the ivy overtaking the crumbling facade and the sagging of the roof but none of this takes away from how majestic it looks. A peacekeeper leads me down a maze of old, dusty corridor and through a large wooden door into a small room. It is furnished in colors of deep red and dark brown; a luscious, velvet sofa sits in the corner and an ornate lamp gives a soft glow to the room. It is the most luxurious room I've ever seen and is bigger than half my house. It has a giant bed which looks like it was made to be jumped on and despite all that has happened today, my desire overtakes me as I run over to bounce on it; I feel like a bird about to take flight, everything that has happened today is forgotten in blissfulness. This bliss is short lived as there is a knock at the door and my family comes in. Mother sits beside me with Bailey on her lap and the others sit around us on the bed; we just sit there in a group hug, silently rocking side to side. I let out a sob, and then another, and then everyone starts crying. This isn't how I wanted our last moments together to go, I wanted them to be strong for me and think positively about this. I don't want them to give up on me, even if I have inside. This is how we stay until the hour is up and the peacekeeper comes and shoos my family out. "I love you sweetie, good luck," mother whispers, kissing me on the forehead. This is followed by a chorus of bye byes as all my brothers and sisters hug me; seeing the younger ones doing this sets me off again and I slowly retreat to the room again. I silently curse myself for crying like that; I could probably pass for hopeless in the arena but I want to at least stay strong for my family when I'm still here. I dry my eyes on the sheets, Chriselda isn't here to tell me off, and I prepare for what is to come.

The next visitor is Amaya. She runs in, tears streaming down her face, and embraces me in a tight hug. We stand there crying for what seems like ages, before Amaya releases me and suddenly grabs my arms. I look into her eyes to see not the girl I was laughing with a few hours ago with happiness etched on her face, but a new, serious girl, a mentor with years of experience. "The most important thing is to find weapons, food and water. Do you understand?" she says with a sense of urgency; all I can do is nod, "Food is easy, you have a wide knowledge of edible plants, you can find food pretty much everywhere. Water shouldn't be that hard, there are normally multiple water sources throughout the arena." I decide against telling her that she is only twelve and has probably only known the significance of the Hunger Games for around 3 years. "Now weapons, all weapons are in or near the cornucopia so unless you want to fight people with a stick you are going to have to get to the cornucopia quickly. You are incredibly fast and light on your feet so you will probably get there first if you're alert; grab the closest backpack and your best or the lightest weapon and get out of there, your backpack will hopefully help you with food also. You should try and stay in the trees as much as possible, the more you stay on land, the more likely you are to get caught in traps and by tributes." I try to take all this information in but Amaya's new intimidating persona is frightening. I haven't even thought about what will happen once I get into the arena, yet she figured it down to the very last detail; she would of done well in the games if she had been picked, I am probably going to die in the bloodbath. It is this thought which again brings me to tears; Amaya's face softens at this and the embraces me again. "You will do well Rue," she whispers, her voice wavering, "Win for me, promise?" "I promise, I'll come back for you and we can feast together in my house, and have sleepovers and play in the orchard," I say this partly to make it sound like I have confidence to her but mostly to convince myself, "It will all be over in a few weeks." If she sees through my façade then she isn't showing it. The peacekeeper comes back in to take Amaya away; she starts kicking and screaming, her calm demeanor has disappeared. "You are the best friend I could ever have!" she screams at me, fighting against the peacekeeper. My heart is breaking as I see her struggle, like a calf being taken for slaughter; "You are like a sister to me," I whisper back. It is almost inaudible but she reads my lips and bursts into tears as the door slams shut behind her with a defining thud. I can hear her sobbing as she seems to be dragged back down the corridor.

I don't even have the heart to bounce on the bed again so I just sit there waving my legs off the edge of the bed, picking at the gold lining of the bed spread. There's another knock at the door and this girl comes in, she's vaguely familiar as she comes and sits down but it's only seeing the tear stains on her cheeks that I recognize her as the girl who had a breakdown, she must be Thresh's sister. She shakes my hand and introduces herself as Trilla Garland; now that I can see her close up, I see she looks like an exact female replica of Thresh; the same broad face, strong handshake; they both keep flawless eye contact that makes you feel as if they are staring into your soul. We stay in an awkward silence for a few minutes; as I stare at my feet I can feel her shuffle around on the sofa. I wonder why she came to see me; it must of being important as the families don't normally visit the tribute opposing their own. "You are probably wondering why I am here," she says as if she can read my thoughts, "Do you have a token yet?" she continues without waiting for an answer. "N-no I don't," I answer, I had completely forgotten about District tokens. Trilla pulls out a package from her pocket and thrusts it into my hands. "Don't open it yet, open it on the train. Thresh wouldn't take it, he isn't the sort to have tokens really. Promise you'll wear it in the games?" I shake the package lightly, hoping for a clue to what it was. "Please," she repeats, I realize I haven't talked since she pulled out the package. "I promise," I whisper, giving her a tiny smile. Suddenly she jumps up and embraces me in a strong hug; even though she's my age she is at least two feet taller than me and I am momentarily raised from the ground. This act of kindness slightly stuns me and I can see by her face when she lets go that she doesn't do that often. For the remainder of the time we sit in silence staring at the floor, the awkwardness which was present before no longer there, replaced with a sense of content. When the peacekeepers she gets up and shakes my hand; "Thank-you for the token Trilla, it will remind me of you" I say, and I know it will remind me of her; if I hadn't been reaped we would have possibly been great friends. To my surprise however, she shakes her head and says "It's to remind you of District 11, that we are all proud of you and that we will always be here to welcome you home." She smiles and the door shuts behind her.


	3. Chapter 3: Breakdown

I sit on the bed pondering about what she had said in a state of shock. "We are all proud of you." I don't see how the whole district could be proud of me; I'm just like any other tribute from District 11; brown skinned, good with plants, at a disadvantage from the other districts tributes as being from a poorer district; and it's not as if there hasn't ever been a 12 year old before, every other year or so there is a twelve year old, and they are usually slaughtered in the bloodbath. I haven't done anything amazing for the District like save a whole group of people from danger; I haven't been through anything traumatic nor anything which would be a cause for me to be remembered. I'm just Rue, plain old Rue.

My confused thoughts are disturbed as the door slams open to reveal two peacekeepers who grab me roughly by my forearms, lifting me slightly. It's like they expect me to escape though the building is being monitored by the whole of Panem and there are peacekeepers swarming the place, at least two around every corner; it would be suicide to try to escape. They lead me out the door and drag me along countless corridors, each one looking the same but slowly getting less dirty. We finally turn a corner after, what seems like hours but is only a few minutes, to see light coming from the end. At this point the peacekeepers promptly let go of my forearms and, very subtly, nudge me down the corridor. The Capitol must want us to seem compliant and not want to be seen forcing us. With one final nudge I step out of the corridor, immediately blinded by hundreds of camera flashes. All I can hear is people shouting our names and reporters shouting out questions, trying to get the latest scoop for multiple papers; the tributes will undoubtedly be on the front pages of every newspaper in the Capitol. I glance over to my right and see Thresh standing a few feet away. He looks like an emotionless figure staring out into the distance, it's as if he can't see or hear the crowd; it slightly unnerving seeing him standing there so close yet being unable to know what he's thinking, yet, though I hate to admit it, it is quite admirable. I attempt to copy him, standing straight, ignoring the crowd and looking into the distance, though considering my size it is harder to do so. We stand there in silence for what seems a painfully infinite amount of time until the peacekeepers decide enough is enough and guide us through the crowd to the train; even that in itself is a challenge, being nearly trampled over multiple times until I grab Thresh's sleeve. He doesn't acknowledge it but thankfully doesn't shoo me away.

From the outside the train looks magnificent; a sleek, silver tube sitting there in all it's splendor; it looks as out of place in its orchard surroundings as Chriselda would in rags. It's obviously one of the Capitol trains; our trains look like they are falling apart; the wood rotting, and any metal parts rusting with age. The inside of the train doesn't disappoint either: plush gold seats; a cream, fluffy carpet; and on the table, so many different types of food in vibrant greens, reds, and yellows amongst others. I glance over at Thresh who, although he is still putting up his emotionless façade, has the glint in his eye, which must be in mine also, of one who is controlling a strong urge, probably the same urge I am trying to resist, to run over to the food and fill his starving stomach. The sudden jolt of the train starting catches me unaware, causing me to stumble over my own feet and nearly fall into the glorious table. Thresh immediately catches me before I crash which is even more surprising than the previous jolt; he has lightning quick reflexes for someone of his broad stature; his type normally have an immense amount of brute strength yet are not very agile. I can't help but wonder what other attributes he is keeping quiet. I flash him a smile and thank him for catching me. He doesn't respond, simply going back to his previous stance as if he hasn't heard me at all, but I can see him relax ever so slightly, his muscles relaxing; it's calming to know that he is capable of feeling any, even if just a small amount, emotion.

"Oh good, you've familiarized yourselves with the living room then," a shrill voice says coming from one of the rooms. Chriselda parades into the room, filling the atmosphere with an annoyingly overwhelming cheerfulness, "follow me". She leads us through the door she previously had came through and down a well lit corridor; our shadows on the wall make us look distorted and more intimidating than we really are, even Thresh. Chriselda points at every door we pass, telling us what its function is amongst other things; after the first three doors I lost interest and her voice turned into a high pitched warble. I am thrown back into reality when Chriselda stops, causing me to bump into her and in turn receive an angry glare. This glare along with her wig being slightly slanted hinders any attempt of me staying serious and I burst into a fit of giggles, only making things worse. A now perturbed Chriselda shows Thresh his room, and then shows me my room and leaves us with a disgruntled flourish. Thresh goes into his room slamming the door ever so slightly behind him, leaving me alone in the corridor to stare at my shadow. I stand there for a few minutes shuffling from foot to foot, contemplating whether I should apologize to Chriselda until I realize that I'm allowed to go into my room. My hand hovers at the door handle before grabbing it and quickly turning it, as if it will disappear before I touch it. I lightly push open the door; it swings open to reveal a room which in itself is larger than my whole house and has more luxuries than my whole village put together. Against the opposite wall is a four post bed, crisp white sheets, plump pillows and a golden blanket furnishing it; a gilded mirror is above a giant dresser which looks big enough to be my bed at home; every item in the room is made of a type of wood, mahogany or oak perhaps? The cream wallpaper against the gold carpet gives a luxurious feel to the room, completing the effect. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a door I missed in my general survey of the room. Upon opening the door I am momentarily blinded by the brightness of the room. As my eyes adjust I see that I am standing in the middle of a bathroom, or what I think is a bathroom; the only objects a recognize are the sink and the toilet, though they are of such high quality that I'm not totally sure that they are what I think they are. In terms of the other object in the room, I presume this is what they call a shower; only the Victors and the mayor owns one of these and I myself have never seen one, only heard of it's existence. Even though I hate to admit it, the Capitol does make beautiful places; if only they did the same to the districts.

A flash of anger threatens to overwhelm me at this thought. The fact that the Capitol has so much money to spend on petty things such as trains when the money could be spent on the hundreds of starving people who need food to survive enrages me. I can feel rage building up around my body, flowing into my fingers; before I can stop myself, I feel my fist making contact with the door, and again, then my feet kick out, soon I'm punching and kicking it with all my might. All the emotions of the last few days flow through my veins and I snap. I climb up the cream walls, pulling at the wallpaper as I go, and scratch at the ceiling until my fingers start to bleed; the sight of blood on the pale ceiling is slightly repulsing but at the same time, satisfying and strengthening. Filled with new strength I throw one of the chairs at the gilded mirror watching as my reflection shatters into millions of pieces. The tinkling of shards on shards spurs me on as I sprint into the bathroom attacking everything in my sight; towels are ripped to shreds; the golden taps are wrenched from their places causing an endless supply of water to spurt out, flooding the sparkling white floor. I stumble back into the bedroom, tripping over the remains of the chair and fall face first into the shards of mirror. A sharp pain sears through my face as blood slowly trickles down my face. A hear a screech and it takes me a second to realize its mine; I'm screaming in pain, pushing myself up, embedding more mirror shards into my palms. I rip the golden sheets and blankets off the bed; like a kitten I effortlessly leap at the curtains, bringing them off the rail as I tumble to the ground. The pain is blinding, my face is on fire, I want the pain to stop; I'm clawing at my face but the pain is only getting worse. My reaping dress is stained with my scarlet blood, the scent of stale blood mixes horribly with the scent of fresh blood, an ongoing stench which messes with my mind. I make a little nest out of the blankets, sheets and pillows; the gold, cream, and red normally would be kind to the eyes, but with the knowledge that the red belongs to me is frightening. The rational part of my mind says I should calm down but I'm not ready to calm down. My vision is blurred from the blood and tears, stinging my eyes; my hands and face are on fire from the shards of glass; and I'm soaked from the water. I painfully crawl over to the dresser and pull out all of the contents, adding them to my nest; I find a large piece of the mirror and use it to saw into the wood of the bed, screaming in mindless frustration when it breaks. I can't stop crying. I can't stop screaming. I can't stop myself from doing anything. I don't want this to be true, I want this to be a horrible dream and that if I pinch myself I'll wake up and everything will be back to normal; I'll be back with mother, I'll be back with Bailey, Rose, Jay, Luke and Daisy; I'll be going to school, working in the orchard in the warmth of the summer sun; I'll be playing with Amaya, doing our secret handshake and singing together with the mockingjays. Why does the Capitol do this to us? Why do they thrive in our pain? Why do they do this? Why?

I slowly crawl into my nest, every move more painful than the last until my anger disappears and only the pain and heart ache is left. I lie there curled up in a tight ball and cry, cry about the pain, cry about the situation, cry because I've had to be strong for so long. I lie there for hours, days, I don't even know anymore, the only thing which is definite is the pain, but even that is something I'm not sure about. Is this what hell is like? Did I fall out of a tree and die? I hear a quiet noise amidst all my thoughts; I only notice now that in the corner, watching me is Thresh; it's scary how I didn't notice him at all in my rampage. "How long?" I ask him between sobs. The look in his face frightens me beyond belief; the pain and sorrow in his face, his face streaked with tears; he doesn't need to answer for me to know that he was there long enough, long enough to see me lose it; to see me harm myself; long enough to see the chaos and destruction I have created. Any restraints I had to keep control left me in an instant and I cry louder than I have ever done before; they rack my body and I shake all over; I scream as if I'll never scream again. I feel something stroke my head – it's Thresh. My muscles tense, he's not meant to be like this, he's meant to be a strong, emotionless figure. Soon I give in to the rhythmic stroking and start to calm down, the hysteria seeping away. Soon I have no tears left, I have no voice left to cry with so I just lie there, my head resting on Thresh's leg, my eyes getting heavy and I soon lose all consciousness. The last thing I hear is the rush of the water flooding the room. The last thing I smell is the stench of blood penetrating the room. The last thing I see is Thresh's face, filled with sorrow but yet he is in some other place entirely, the vacant look in his eyes slightly blurred from my vision, is he thinking of Trilla. My last thought being that perhaps, just perhaps, inside Thresh was more than just a tough guy; that inside, he had his own song and that it was yet to be sang.

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